


The Drink

by Alter-cation (Alter_cation)



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Reader, POV Female Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Insert, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alter_cation/pseuds/Alter-cation
Summary: You finally bite the bullet and invite Reeve in for a drink.
Relationships: Reeve Tuesti/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	The Drink

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ More Reeve thirst. Idk.
> 
> Please take this, I don't want to look at it anymore. I don't even know if it's good. I kind of gave up at the end. Last 1,700 words are un-proofread because it's quarter after 2 and I want to go to bed. Proceed at your own risk.

Director Tuesti’s driver has left the car running at the curb. The night air is stuffy and close, full of the incessant chirping of insects that don’t seem to mind the limited vegetation here in the levels just beneath the plate. Reeve offers you a hand out of the car, his skin warm and his grip firm as you take it. The heat of the day is seeping into the earth, allowing Midgar a chance to breathe. This level doesn’t hold the heat as badly as lower levels, and even sometimes a fortunate breeze drifts in off the desert to cool things down. Streetlights paint your neighbourhood in cold blue tones. It highlights the blades of Reeve’s cheekbones, the curve of his plump lower lip, and casts a shadow into the omnipresent wrinkle between his brows. Straightening up brings you face to face with him, and while any time to get close to the Director is very welcome, when you are so close he always gives you this appreciative, diminutive smile that lights a little fire in you.

He gestures for you to lead the way to your own doorstep to draw your enjoyable evening to its end.

Like a gentleman, he always insists on delivering you personally to your front door, and bids you goodbye with a passionate kiss that always leaves a smouldering hunger unfulfilled in the bottom of your belly. Yet he never pushes the issue any further, never asks to come in and never invites you home to his. You’re certain he has to feel the same electric something between you that you do, the way his hands linger on you after he draws back, colour flush in his cheeks and pupils blown and breaths coming just a little harder, and the way he grazes his lower lip through his teeth, hesitation in every action until he steps back. He even holds tight to your hand til his backward steps take him outside the span of both your arms. While you appreciated the time you are able to enjoy with the Urban Planning director, busy as he is, you have to admit to yourself that you are yearning for a little more than he has offered to this point. And every time you think to raise an invitation, your throat tenses. The Director is busy— you don’t want to keep him out late if he needs to go home and sleep, or to interfere with his busy schedule.

You don’t want to make yourself vulnerable if perhaps you are imagining everything.

“I had a wonderful evening,” you tell him, taking both his hands in yours. You can see a small bead of sweat gathered at Reeve’s temple, the heat and his layered suit likely causing him a bit of discomfort. “What a show that was! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He always smiles so sweetly when you praise something he had a hand in bringing about, like he’s proud to have pleased you. Bathed in the warm tone of your porchlight, he looks years younger, lively and almost well-rested, especially when he smiles like that.

“So did I. I knew you’d love it.” He steps close, into your space. “I daresay I enjoyed the company more, though.” His eyes are intent on yours, alight with the smile on his lips.

“I’m difficult to compete with, it’s true,” you say, enjoying the way his laugh sounds, quiet as it is, when he’s so close to you.

“It really is.” He brings your knuckles to his lips so he can kiss them, then releases that hand to cup your cheek in his palm. “Good night.”

His parting kisses are always so slow and sweet, languid and unhurried, growing in intensity but never reaching a fever pitch. He kisses you like he could stay out there on your porch all night to keep at it. His other hand slides to the small of your back while he kisses you, keeping you close. Your hands find their way around his neck, one twisting into the long hair at the back of his head while the other steadies him at his nape.

Feeling reckless, you lick your way into his mouth and feel his rough sigh exhaled against your cheek, hot in the waning humidity of a Midgard summer evening. His grip tightens on the small of your back, dragging your hips flush to his. That little slip, that possessive grasping only stokes the embers in your belly. You make a decision, then and there.

Reeve slowly draws back, easing his way out with smaller, more chaste kisses pressed to your lips in succession. “Good night,” he reiterates, perhaps trying to downplay the heat in his cheeks and the hunger he can’t totally hide from his expression. “Call me when you get a chance.” His hands slip from your back and your neck to your hands.

“Would you like to come in for a drink?” you ask, before you can second-guess yourself. This is new uncharted territory, and you know your little home is nothing special compared to what he is likely used to up on the plate. There are thousands of reasons you can conjure up for him to say no, but none compelling enough to override the heady desire making you dizzy. Let Director Tuesti worry about his own schedule. You can’t bear to see him leave your doorstep again without making yourself understood.

Reeve smiles, once again drawing your hand to his lips so he can press a little kiss to the back of your hand. “I’d like that. Give me a moment to speak with my driver.”

“Good. Of course.” Your words ride the edge of an exhale, eager and thrilled and reassured that this means as much to him as it does to you. You squeeze his hands. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.” You’re grateful for the chance to double-check that the hotspots of your house are presentable, that you hadn’t missed anything too terrible earlier in the day.

You’d been thinking, hoping the evening might turn out this way. It didn’t hurt to be prepared.

The air inside your home is sweltering, though; you activate the air conditioning, but it isn’t cooling as fast as you hoped. What a faux-pas, you think, inviting your long-awaited date into a hot house, but you hope he’ll forgive you.

You hear him enter the house just as you finish adjusting the settings of the air conditioning upstairs. Distantly, you can hear his driver pull the car away from the curb. By the time you’re down the stairs, he’d kicked off his shoes by the door and is just easing out of his suit jacket. His dress shirt beneath it clings to his arms, sticky in the heat.

“Sorry it’s a little warm,” you offer, apologetic, your hand skimming the bannister. He holds up a hand to you when you reach the base, which you take and step down to the main floor with a little flourish. He grins, spinning you around once.

“That’s okay. It’s been unseasonably warm lately.” Reeve’s eyes leave yours momentarily. “Forgive me, I’m parched. Terrible manners, but I will take you up on that drink, if you don’t mind.”

The drink had been euphemistic, but you can’t refuse such a polite request. And if things go your way, the two of you will need to stay hydrated. “Of course. Make yourself at home, all right?” You pat his hand and leave him in the hallway. When you return, a couple glasses of iced tea in hand, you find him in your living room, studying your decor and the pictures you chose to display.

“I didn’t know you were into martial arts,” he says, turning to take the glass from you. He doesn’t hesitate to dive right in, taking down a third of the glass with ease. You study the bob of his throat as he does before you realize what you’re doing.

_ So thirsty. _

“Since college,” you tell him, glancing at the shots of you at a match in years past. “I’m all right. It keeps me fit.”

Reeve smiles. “It does.”

You swat his sleeve, but his observation does thrill you. “And what do you do? I can tell you’re packing heat under that suit of yours.” You rest your hand on his upper arm, pleased to feel the firm muscle you’d long suspected he possessed.

“The company gym is the only reason I haven’t been fired for assaulting another board member,” he confides. “I’m glad my efforts have a secondary benefit.”

You set your glass aside on the coffee table. “I wouldn’t mind a closer look.”

Reeve puts his empty glass aside, too, sensing intention behind the hands you slide up his chest. “We might be able to make that arrangement,” he says, kissing a smile to the corner of your lips.

You slide your fingers into his hair again and draw him into a teasing kiss, breaking it moments later to nip his lower lip between your teeth. He breathes a rough sigh against your mouth and claims another kiss. You snare his hips so you both move in unison toward the wall til his shoulder blades collide with it. Reeve’s kiss grows in intensity, making the way he kissed you on the porch seem downright chaste. This is real, raw hunger, a long-repressed desire. He’d confessed to you on a previous date that he hasn’t been in a relationship for quite some time, having been far too busy at work to set aside the time. He said it straight— you were a very rare exception, and you couldn’t lie and say that wasn’t flattering on its own. Prior to this, you’d been regulars at the same coffee shop, and after swallowing your nerves, you finally struck up a conversation. To think he’d thought, even then, that you were worth rearranging his busy days for— well, you’d certainly had partners in the past fail to do so much for you.

And, well— if he kissed this well despite being out of practice for a while, you couldn’t help but feel a little eager to get him up to your bedroom and see what other secrets he was hiding from you.

His tongue slides slick and velvet against yours as he drags your hips closer, his breath catching in his throat when you rut impulsively against him.. Your hands slip down to his neck, loosening his tie with impatient hands. When he breaks away to breathe, you kiss your way down from the corner of his lips to his jaw, and tease his collar apart so you can lavish your attentions on his neck. He tilts his head back against the wall, his breath ragged, eyes briefly closing against your onslaught. You carry on, enjoying the sound of his breathing, the little strangled sighs of pleasure as you kiss and nip at his throat. His hands leave your hips, and at length, you become aware that they hadn’t yet found their hold anywhere else on your body. His arms still enclose you, loosely, but his hands don’t grip you to keep you close. You pause, glancing up at him— eyes open, his attention diverted for the moment to something just behind you.

“Is that your  _ phone _ ?” you ask, incredulous, drawing back a bit, resting a hand on his chest.

Reeve looks aghast to have been caught. “Sorry,” he says, in a rush. “Texting my driver.”

“Your driver?”

He looks sheepish, heat flaring in his cheeks as he meets your eyes. “To let him know I won’t need him to come back tonight after all.”

“Why would you need him to come back?”

Reeve laughs a little nervously. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” 

You cannot  _ believe _ this man.

He lowers his phone to his side and kisses you on the lips, leaning into you. “I’m sorry. Let me just make a quick call. Then you’ll have my undivided attention for the rest of the night.”

Such a delectable promise sends a shiver up your spine, but you do your best not to give away how much a few simple words get to you. “I’ll deal with these, then.” You take up the glasses and carry them off to the kitchen. Reeve’s deep voice, sounding just a little breathless, echoes down the hall to you, though you don’t try to make out the words. It’s different— but not unwelcome— to have a man in your home, and as you rinse out the glasses and set them to dry in the rack, you imagine a much more domestic scenario, him placing a business call casually from your living room, maybe, with his feet up on your couch, truly at home in your life.

Surely a man like Director Reeve Tuesti wouldn’t want to slum it with you down here below the plate, though. You shove that thought down deep and, hearing Reeve closing his call, return to him.

“There,” Reeve says, sliding his phone into his pocket. He looks especially charming standing in your living room, hair disheveled, lips kiss-swollen, his tie half-undone by your roving hands. “I could have done without his subtle teasing, but it’s done. I’m all yours.” He holds out a hand for you, drawing you back face to face with him.

“Now where were we?” You smile, cradling his cheeks in your hands. His beard itches your palms, but he looks so pleased to be held so adoringly you don’t dare let go.

“Somewhere about here,” Reeve says, leaning into you with a searing kiss. He breaks away to press hot, rough kisses to your throat and across your chest.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” you purr, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s his turn to press you into the wall, and he hikes your dress up your hips with rough hands to slot his knee between yours. You breathe a little moan— there is something about Reeve, usually so proper, tugging up your clothes and dragging his hands across the tops of your stockings and pinning you to the wall with his hips in just such a way that you can feel how hard he is that absolutely thrills you. You rock your hips against his again, earning a huffed groan, and such blessed friction of his thigh pressed up against you— but not near enough, not exactly where you need it.

“Tell you a secret?” Reeve purrs by your ear, his voice gone low and rough. He nibbles at your earlobe. “I’ve been thinking about taking that dress off you all evening.” He lowers his head to your neck and resumes pressing kisses and little bites there to feel you squirm against him.

You groan shallowly and pluck at his tie, slipping the end from its knot so you can wrap it around the back of his neck and bring him close.

“You don’t like it that much?” you tease, plucking the buttons of his shirt open.

“On the contrary; you look stunning in it.” He kisses the corner of your lips. “I just think it’d look better on your bedroom floor.”

You chuckle and swat his arm. “Cheesy. But I think you’re right.” You use his tie to pull him into an enticing kiss. “Let’s find out.”

Your intention was to take him by the hand and lead him up the stairs, but it’s so damn hard to interrupt his hungry kisses. Standing on the first step of the stairs, Reeve catches you about the waist and kisses you, briefly, then moves further down to bite and suck marks over your decolletage and one on the swell of your breast above the neckline of your dress. You toss his tie on the bannister and nip his lower lip, tugging on his hand to guide him up a couple more stairs. Every few, you drift back together, lips and hands hungry on one-another. You finally undo the last few buttons of his dress shirt and push it off his shoulders, leaving it to tumble halfway down the stairs, forgotten. When you finally make it to the top, it isn’t difficult from there— easy enough to guide him with backwards steps to your bedroom.

It’s hotter up here on the second storey. Your air conditioning system isn’t the best, and it often has trouble coping with the heat that rises from the rest of the house in the summer months. It’s a distant observation— you vaguely note the sweat drawn to the surface of your skin as your calves hit the edge of your bed.

“You could just leave the dress,” you tell him, grinding up against him just to hear the shallow groan catch in his throat. You were beyond ready to move things along, to just finally, after all this time, have him. His patience was starting to both astound and get under your nerves.

His hands are already searching blindly for the zipper pull. “But I’ve been looking forward to this for hours.” He finds it and sets about easing it down, inch by inch.

“Mm. Good point.” You nip his earlobe, and he shudders a breath against your collarbones. “Undress me, Director Tuesti.”

He grins and gently eases the fabric down over your hips, letting it drop to your feet, and takes a step back to admire you. “Better,” he purrs, and steps back into your guard, easing you back onto the bed.

“Glad you approve,” you say, breathless, as Reeve kneels between your knees. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him as he slides his palms up the outside of your calves and up over your knees. He nudges your legs just a little further apart and presses kisses to the side of your knee, slowly trailing them up to the band of your stocking. Very gingerly, he takes the edge of it in his teeth, and slowly starts working it down your leg. You draw a sharp breath, suddenly aware that you’d stopped doing so as you watched him work. His hand stays behind, gently rubbing at the red groove the elastic made where it had bit into your skin.

Reeve tugs your stocking loose with his free hand so he can kiss your bare ankle, the inner curve of your calf, his breath blowing hot against your skin. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and you have to draw a breath. His eyes are pure hunger and desire, made dark by the desirous contraction of his pupils. He repeats the same with your other stocking, keeping his gaze locked with yours.

That fire in your core just burns ever brighter, seeing him kiss the inside of your knee, and then a scant couple inches higher, on the inside of your thigh. It’s hard to tell if it’s that making you sweat, or the summer heat still lingering.

You sit up and pull him to you with greedy hands, drawing him into another blazing kiss. He comes along willingly, even as you tip back onto the bed and drag him along with you. Reeve collapses over you on his forearms, trying not to crush you into the bed. You slide your hand up from his hip, nails raking little paths through his chest hair before it comes to rest at the side of his neck. You wrap your legs around his hips, relishing how right it feels, how he’s still so hard and hot against you. 

“You are so beautiful,” he purrs, his tireless hungry hands skimming the edges of your lingerie appreciatively. “I don’t know how I’m so lucky.” Sweat is beaded on his forehead, and he slips his fingertips just beneath the edge of your underwear. “May I?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him to you for another kiss. He sighs into it, levering himself up on a knee so he can tug your underwear down, though he’s distracted before he can tug them all the way off. His hand trails back up your inner thigh, swallowing your whimper as he deepens the kiss. His fingers are cautious and slow, but firm when he finds his target. Your moan elicits one of his own, your fingers curling into his back, his skin already slick with sweat.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, then reclaims your lips. His fingers slide almost frictionless over you, still circling your clit until you rock your hips against him, demanding more. The push of his finger inside you is slow and steady, and at its limit he curls it upwards just so, brushing up against that bundle of nerves that has you breaking the kiss to cry out. Every sound only encourages him, still moving slow and steady but making sure to curl into that spot with every pass, relentless. Your hands are twisted tight in his hair, eyes closed, sighing your little sighs and moans against his lips. Your skin is overheated, face and chest flushed, sweat collecting in the hollow of your throat, the space between your breasts. Reeve’s breath blows hot against your overheated skin, and that insistent, incessant curling of his fingers in you only drives you onward, sweating, sighing into him, arching off the bed against him. It’s too difficult to maintain a kiss at this point, where you’re gasping for breath. Reeve lowers his head to kiss the sweat from your chest.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, and you know it’s all too much all too fast, there’s no way you can last long like this. Your first is usually not too hard to reach, but after all the kisses and teasing leading up to this, you can already feel tension coiling sharply in your thighs, tightening where they’re curled around Reeve. Every time you moan, he breathes a gasp or sigh into your skin. 

Reeve’s a diligent lover, taking your request not to stop very seriously— he does not stop or slow, nor does he let his own thrill of getting you off let him speed up. Your long, reedy moan and the trembling of your thighs around his hips encourage him to move his thumb against your clit, matching his pace with thrusting and curling his fingers inside you.

His pace and pressure is perfect, that combined sensation just delicious and dizzying, and you almost wish you could languish in it a little longer. You cry his name and moan, arching sharply off the mattress and clinging to him with all your strength as that tension in you springs apart all at once. Reeve hardly falters but for a ragged groan, his hand moving steadily until you relax with a long sigh, pressing an imprecise kiss against his lips. He sits back, pulling you upright with him, his hands wound around your back. His kisses are breathless, but he’s plucking at the fastening of your bra behind your back. He strips you gently, coming back for further kisses in between steps.

“How was that?” he asks, trying to sound casual. Somehow, insecure even after effortlessly rubbing you off to a sweet, languid orgasm. His face is red, sweat beaded on his brow, his eyes watching yours closely.

“Wonderful,” you tell him, and it was— but not exactly what you’d wanted. Part of you is still hungry, still unsatisfied, and won’t rest until you’d really had him, as you’d been hoping for all night. You pull him close and work a hand down between the two of you, impulsively stroking your fingers up the front of his slacks. Still hard as diamond, hot even through the fabric. Reeve gasps, hips stuttering beneath your touch. You kiss your way along his jaw, above the edge of his neat beard, to his ear. “And if you give me a moment to catch my breath, I’ll be ready for you.”

He gives a rough little moan. “Are you sure you still want to—?”

“Reeve,” you interrupt him. “I want you, so badly.” Your clever fingers have worked the button on his trousers loose, and make short work of the fly.

He’s on you in the next instant with a hungry little growl, kissing you back into the mattress, his hands in your hair. Never one to be passive, you shimmy his slacks down his hips as far as you can reach, then run up his back. His skin is hot and sticky beneath your hands, and when you drag your nails upward from his lower back, he breaks the kiss with a shuddering sigh against your lips.

He kisses his way along your cheek to your ear. “Condom,” he breathes.

“Top drawer,” you answer, fumbling for the handle that’s just out of reach. All your hopeful planning is really paying off, and you can’t help but feel a little proud. Reeve kisses your cheek and fumbles to his feet, kicking his slacks across the room. You scoot close to the edge of your bed as he digs the box out of the drawer and tears into it. You kiss your way along his abdomen, earning a rough hum of pleasure and a distinct twitch of his cock. In just his underwear, you can finally see most of him without that meddlesome suit in the way; he’s handsome like this, bared to you, not Executive Director of Urban Planning Reeve Tuesti, just your hungry lover stripped down and ready to ravish you. A man who has probably kept the company of his own hand for a little too long. You can tell he keeps himself fit as much as he can, attractively muscled but not without just the slightest hint of softness to him. His arms and legs look strong, nicely shaped, and you look forward to getting to explore him a little more thoroughly in the future. His chest is broad and flushed red, the hair dispersing to a distinct trail that runs down til it disappears beneath the hem of his underwear.

While he fumbles with the box, you gently tease at the edge of his underwear, easing them down slowly. You bite at first softly then much more sharply at the hollow of his hip, sucking a lovely bruise to the surface of his skin before you soothe the mark with your tongue. Reeve groans and, having gotten what he was after, tosses the rest of the box into the nightstand and slaps it shut. He bows to kiss you, giving you something to do with your mouth other than tease, easing his drawers to the floor while you’re distracted.

He eases you back onto the bed so he can join you, kneeling on the edge while he opens the condom. You’re not shy about looking— Reeve’s cock suits him, proportionally perfect, thick and long enough and curving proudly upward. You make a little desirous sigh, and he looks away from what he’s doing to meet your eyes, to see you seeing him. His face flushes just a little more red, but his eyes burn with hunger, near black with how his pupils are blown. With the condom in place, he’s on you again, one hand against your jaw as he kisses you.

“Please,” you sigh, so fed up with the waiting. He doesn’t keep you waiting; reaching between you, he guides himself slowly into you, sighing roughly when he bottoms out. He feels incredible— thick and blunt in just the right way to fill you properly, like he was made for you. His hand finds yours, and he links fingers with you, squeezing your knuckles.

“All right?” he murmurs, kissing your lips.

“Perfect,” you reply, giving a little rock of your hips to urge him to move. His thrusts are slow and languid, and he kisses your throat, his breath blowing hot against your overheated skin. You curl your legs around him tight, a little higher, and the change in angle means he hits something in you just right. You tilt your head back with a rough moan, and he answers in kind, his own gone reedy and strained. There’s a stutter in Reeve’s rhythm, and when he picks it up again, his thrusts are just a little harder, unrelenting. He arches his back just slightly, and it’s perfect. You beg him in stuttering breaths to keep going, just like that.

Neither of you are going to keep this up for very long, as wound up as you are. Reeve seems dead-set on making sure you’re taken care of before he finishes. He recognizes the building tension in you, the way you grip at him, and he slides a hand between the two of you to help you along.

You’re burning up from the inside out, overheated and coiled tight and trembling toward the edge of release. You meet Reeve’s eyes and find him just as hot and close as you, sweat running down his temples and his neck, every point of contact between you sticking. He squeezes your knuckles again, holding your eye contact, biting his lip against a ragged sigh as you clench around him.

“Reeve—” You come around him, arching up against him with a rough cry, nails digging furrows into his back. He’s not far behind you, losing all rhythm as he chases his own pleasure, finally spending with a groan he buries in your shoulder. 

Reeve collapses beside you, breathless and thoroughly satisfied. As you lie cooling in each other’s sweat, your bedroom air conditioning unit decides to kick into high gear. You’ve never been more grateful for the unreliable piece of garbage.

When your heart rates settle and you’re prepared to settle in for the night, he invites you to curl up against his chest. He presses drowsy kisses to your cheek.

“Can I ask a question?” you ask, unable to fall asleep beside your lover with this one last loose end unanswered.

“Of course.” He props himself up on an elbow, his free hand trailing down your sternum.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” You reach up to touch the side of his cheek.

He smiles and leans into your touch. “A very long time.”

“You never… asked. To stay the night, or to take me home.” You brushed your thumb across his cheekbone, worrying your lower lip between your teeth, hesitating on the final question. “Why not?”

He drops his gaze, heat climbing back into his cheeks— nervous, uncertain. He settles in beside you, drawing you into a tender, but brief, kiss.

“I really, really like you,” he explains, finding your hand with his. “A lot. I was so scared I’d mess this up if I pushed too hard, went too fast.” He draws a breath, steeling himself against exposing more of how he feels. “I want to be with you. It doesn’t matter what we do together. I just want to be there beside you.”

You smile, leading his hand to rest over your heart. Relief seeped sweet as honey across your nerves. On the same page, after all. “So do I.” You roll to face him, resting your head on his chest. “I’m really fond of you. And I want to see your place next time.”

Reeve grins, his eyes closing. “I promise my air conditioning will be working.”


End file.
